


The C Train

by MissBMarie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBMarie/pseuds/MissBMarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU:<br/>Above them, the PA system crackled to life.<br/>“Next stop: 5th and Pearl St.” the automated voice rang. Sansa hurriedly unzipped her bag to pack her book away.<br/>“This is my stop.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She hadn’t meant to be so forward. The words had spilled from her lips before she’d had time to think on them. She’d been a bit too eager, it seemed.

Sansa was new in town, after all. King’s Landing was a whole different ballpark compared to Winterfell. She had yet to make any friends in this new city, and as a result, the past week -her first week- had been notably lacking in human conversation. 

“Are you enjoying it?” She’d asked. The man looked up, only alerted to her due to the proximity of her voice. He clearly did not think she was talking to him, as he tossed a glance over his shoulder, shifting on his feet as though he intended to move aside. 

But no one was behind him, and he looked back, confused and a bit startled.

“Beg your pardon?” he blurted. His brow, for he only had one, pulled inward. 

Sansa felt heat bloom on her neck and ears, a familiar prickling sensation. She stepped forward and weaved passed the vertical pole. The C train was busy this Monday morning, but not as packed as Sansa had envisioned public transit would be. She dutifully held up her book to make it more visible.

“Your book.” She said, and pointed to the object in his hand that mirrored her very own. He looked down at it, as though he needed to be reminded what he was holding, despite that he’d been reading it just a moment ago.

“Oh.” He said, in a much less agitated tone than before. “Uh.” He met her eyes again, looking a bit bewildered and, if she were being honest, put out.

She immediately felt guilty. She’d seen the book and hadn’t a single thought toward whether or not she’d be disrupting him. _Wonderful _. Her first day as a cityfolk and she was already that annoying person on the train.__

__“I’m sorry.” She said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just saw we were reading the same book and I-”_ _

__“I’m only on chapter three.” he said. Or rather, confessed. He held it out like pittance and gave a shrug. Sansa was relieved._ _

__“I just started chapter three, as well!” she told him gleefully. “I like it, so far. I’m definitely picking up on an allegory for racial discrimination in the form of the Earth One descendants and the Tarsniack.” She stammered, words coming out rushed. If he noticed, he didn’t bring attention to it, instead nodding as she spoke, “Though the heroine is a bit crass for my taste.” she added._ _

__The leathery part of his mouth remained still, but the other side twitched upward for a moment._ _

__“She rather suits mine.” he said, “But it helps that her cyborg friend provides a balance against her stubborn nature.” Sansa nodded vigorously._ _

__“Yes, absolutely.” she agreed. She watched as he reached up to mussy his hair a bit, resulting in more dark strands falling over the marred side of his face._ _

__She recognized the gesture. Something Shireen often did when she was young, and still embarrassed of her affliction. She still did it every now and then, even after years of being neighbors._ _

__

_His _scars looked old. It seemed as if new skin had grown back over in some places. Though the shape of his face and jaw were intact, his left ear was but a nub of flesh. It was no pretty sight, that was certain. He looked up again, gauging her silence, perhaps.__

____It was then she caught sight of both his eyes. Whatever had happened to him took his left eye as well. It was glossed over, the iris light._ _ _ _

____His other eye, though, was dark and stormy, and scanned over her with unbridled attention._ _ _ _

____“Can I ask what made you choose this book?” she gripped the railing as the train came to a stop, and the doors opened to allow more passengers. “The author isn’t very mainstream, and it has so many feminist undertones.” The man backed up against the wall, giving Sansa space to move forward. “I’m honestly surprised to see a man reading it.” she admitted. His lip twitched again, and his brow pulled in. She had to arch her neck to look up at him now. He was terribly tall, even to someone of Sansa’s height. The train jostled into motion._ _ _ _

____“Mayhaps more men ought to read books like these. In any case, there’s plenty to be had outside of the political and social themes.” he argued, “Interstellar chases, laser showdowns and what have you.” he said gruffly. Sansa laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. “But truth be told, my sister lent it to me.” he admitted._ _ _ _

____Above them, the PA system crackled to life._ _ _ _

“ **Next stop: 5th and Pearl St **.”****

The automated voice rang. Sansa hurriedly unzipped her bag to pack her book away. 

“This is my stop.” She announced as the train began to slow, coupled with the screeching sound of metal grinding metal. Sansa gripped the railing as it came to a halt. “It was nice chatting with you.” She told him with a smile. The man nodded as the doors beside him opened, and Sansa made to move past. A few people crowded in behind her, forcing her into his personal space. Despite his size, he somehow managed to back into the wall even more, giving her room to step by. “Have a good rest of your day!” She chimed. He nodded quickly. 

“Aye.” he blurted as she moved to leave, “You too.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Her first day at Highgarden Magazine had been typical of any first day on the job. She’d been shown her in-office work space, given a tour, filled out tax forms, and signed company confidentiality papers. Contrasting the other copy editor’s schedule, she’d be in-office every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and work remotely every Tuesday/Thursday.

So come Wednesday morning, Sansa was back on the C train platform at 18th and Oak, work bag at her side and book in hand. She’d put thought toward getting a vehicle; a moped had seemed like a fun idea. But she’d have no place to store it for inclement weather. And in any case, she wasn’t prepared to for the initial costs or following upkeep that came with owning a car. A monthly metro pass was far more within her financial scope. 

The fluorescent lights shook above her head as the train came roaring in, squealing sharply on the tracks. She held her hair down as it coasted by, and when the doors chimed open, slipped inside. She shuffled to the center, trying to make space for the deluge of _‘excuse me’s' and ‘pardon me’s' _flooding in behind her. Unlike some, she was tall enough to hold onto the suspended handles if need be.__

And there was a need. Today the train was surprisingly more stuffed than Monday had been. She gripped firmly onto the handle, smiling down at uniformed woman seated at her hip, and at the mustached man in a suit to her left, who smelled sharply of old men’s cologne. She pursed her lips together, shifting her weight to one leg and settling in as the train surged forward. 

She spotted him then. The man she’d spoken with Monday morning. He was situated by the doors again, leaned up against the wall, book in hand. He looked up, right at her. Perhaps he’d seen her getting on the train. She smiled warmly, wiggling her fingers on the handle above her head in a sort-of wave. 

After a few moments they arrived at the next stop, and Sansa moved with the crowd, making her way across the car to the doors. 

“Hello again.” she said as she approached him, book clutched between her fingers. “Did you get much further?” she asked. He offered up a shrug. 

“Chapter Seven.” he told her. Sansa’s brows lifted high on her head, and she pressed her lips together into a prominent ‘o’ shape. 

“Ooooh, chapter seven,” She said secretively. His one brow arched dramatically. 

“You’re not about to spoil it for me, are you?” he rasped, teasingly, but she sensed he was, in fact, a bit concerned. Sansa laughed, shaking her head. 

“Certainly not.” She promised. “Though I won’t lie, I was getting a bit miffed with Korin all throughout the last chapter. Her incessant inability to accept assistance is digging her and Ceo into an even bigger hole with the Peace Department.” she said. The man huffed, folding his book over his thumb, securing the page in place. 

“A plot device.” he said, “They’re building it up so that when she _finally_ goes and talks to her former Earth One detective father, it’s all the more dramatic.” Sansa only hmmed, and the man narrowed his eyes. “Ah, you know something.” he accused. 

And she did. For what he didn’t know was that Korin would find her father dead at the end of Chapter Seven. Of course she didn’t want to reveal that. 

“Not so much,” She opted to say, “I’m just getting a bit of a Holden Caulfield, _Catcher in the Rye, _vibe from her. It’s hard to like her sometimes.” The man studied her face and clicked his tongue against his cheek.__

“You’re a terrible liar.” he said first, “But I’d agree. She’s frustratingly flawed.” 

**“Next stop: 5th and Pearl St.” ******

Sansa looked up toward the speaker as though it’d been notifying her directly. 

“Whoop, that was fast.” She said, and stuffed her unread book in her bag. She gripped tightly to the vertical pole as the train came to a stop, then turned toward the doors expectantly. 

“See you Friday, then?” she asked, adjusting her bag’s strap on her shoulder. The man paused a moment, and suddenly Sansa felt very silly. Here she was, being far too forward again. All around them, strangers had dutifully ignored each other; adopted a mutual understanding that no one had any obligation to acknowledge anyone else’s existence. That this whole train experience was simple: Get from Point A to Point B. 

He inhaled sharply. 

“Friday.” he said with finality. 

Sansa smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that left Kudos and Comments! They're always very much appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

She wondered what he did for a living that would have him in a suit everyday. She supposed plenty of jobs involved suits, but for a man of his size, that must be a tiresome expense. On Friday, she sought him out as soon as she entered the train, and right away shuffled toward the exit door wall.

“Chapter seven?” She asked, eye wide and expectant. He shook his head ruefully.

“Chapter seven.” he parroted, though with a far darker tone. Sansa smiled broadly and wrinkled her nose.

“Crazy, right?” she said excitedly. “I didn’t have a whole lot of time to read yesterday - I tried putting together a dresser myself, poorly - but I did get to chapter nine.” He huffed, folding his book over that thumb. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” he said. She waved an open palm at him, back and forth with a grimace. 

“It’s not _terrible _.” she lied, and his lip pulled up on the good side, an amused huff leaving him. “Though it was slanted enough that my lotion and perfume bottles kept sliding off, so I tossed some magazines under the legs to balance it out.” She watched as he crossed his arms and used his free hand to cover the lower half of his face, attempting to suppress the smile beneath his palm. The rise of his cheeks betrayed him though.__

__She tsked at him. “You could try not to be so amused at my misfortune.” she declared. He offered up only a shrug._ _

“Not so much misfortune as ineptitude.” Sansa recoiled a bit at that, though not notably so. _Was that an insult _, she wondered. _Had he meant it to be that way? _“Mayhaps you should have gotten a dresser already put together.” he continued, dropping his hand to rest at his folded arm. Sansa mulled it over, and he more than likely thought she was considering his suggestion. But in truth, she was trying to determine if she was offended or not.____

__“They had an option for the delivery men to assemble it,” she explained, “But they charge an arm and a leg.” She shrugged then, “I’d hoped that maybe I could charm a little help from them, but they were in and out lightning quick.” she said, accentuating it with a snap of her fingers. The man shook his head._ _

__“Chivalry. Gone the way of the dodo bird.” he told her. Sansa laughed, then pulled her bottom lip into a pout._ _

__“Not entirely. Ceo is exceptionally gallant.” she argued. The man’s eyebrow rose in a way Sansa was starting to think should be trademarked for him._ _

__“Ceo is fictional.” he said flatly._ _

__“Ceo lives, in some form, in my heart. (__ _“In your heart, of course.” the man repeated under his breath, shaking his head._ ) Fiction is simply life breathed through imagination.” she insisted. His brow remained.

____“Oh? And who said that?” he implored. Sansa grinned sheepishly._ _ _ _

____“I did, just now, trademark Sansa.” she said with a laugh._ _ _ _

____“Sansa.” he repeated. It startled her a bit, her name on his tongue was … melodic almost. Low and smooth. She felt heat rise to her neck._ _ _ _

____“Oh, we haven’t actually introduced ourselves have we?” she said quickly, pushing the sensation aside. She held out her hand. “Nice to meet you…” She said expectantly. He took her hand in his; his much larger, darker hand, enclosing around her fingers._ _ _ _

____Surprisingly gentle, for a man of his size._ _ _ _

____“Sandor.” he told her._ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa’s weekend had been so boring, she’d called up Arya on Sunday just to see what she was up to. Though King’s Landing was one of the largest and densely populated cities on the continent, apparently being a new resident still left one feeling surprisingly lonely.

Despite that, she was plenty optimistic. Many of her co-workers seemed receptive to her, thus far. Including the lead political correspondent, Margaery Tyrell, the editor-in-chief's granddaughter, and quite possibly one of the most well known faces of the magazine. Sansa was thrilled when one of Margaery's pieces landed in her queue on Friday.

Though, she was embarrassed to admit: she spent a great deal of time Googling a lot of the political jargon.

Still, Margaery had approved of her small edits, and had come in person to Sansa’s little corner of the world to tell her so. It was a good start.

Additionally, she also had her train buddy.

 _Sandor _,__ she’d learned.

With little much else to do, she’d gotten fairly far into their book. At least a third of the way through. What Sansa thought was going to be an action-driven, space-age interpretation of modern social constructs, was turning out to be a murder/mystery.

“And kindof a creepy one.” She admitted the following Wednesday morning after explaining her surprise in, what she felt, was a rapid change of theme.

And there went his eyebrow.

“Not quite Scooby-Doo enough for you?” he teased, not entirely kindly. Sansa huffed.

“I, honest to God, cannot tell if Ceo is actually hearing and seeing these things, or if something has corrupted his cybernetic brain!” her hand was flying around as she spoke, despite the tight quarters.

Sandor rolled his tongue over his teeth. She saw it move beneath his lip, even the ruined part, and the good side curved up in the briefest of grins. She’d expressed this thought to him on Monday as well, but he’d been reluctant to voice his theory.

 _“Wouldn’t want to ruin it for you if I’m right._ ” he’d told her, in a surprisingly cocky tone.

Sansa’s eyes narrowed purposefully.

“What?” she bid, “What do you think it is?” But Sandor shook his head again today, holding his one free hand up as if to claim ‘ _no contest_ ’. The other hand occupied with the book, folded over his thumb. Sansa scoffed. “C’mon now.” she implored.

**“Next stop: 5th and Pearl St.”**

Sandor clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Ooh, it’s your stop. Too bad. Guess you’ll just have to wait and read.” Had this not been the most amused she’d seen him, Sansa might have been put out by his audacity to tease her theories while refusing to share his own.

But, he was quite amused. He didn’t smile, no, but his tone was light, and his shoulders rolled with ease.

Sansa supposed she’d nag him over it another time.

"Ooh I see, it creeped you out, too,” Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t wait. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I completely understand. You don’t have to talk about it.” She taunted. He started to respond, but the doors slid open, the crowd surging forward, and Sansa hurriedly followed the flow. She peered back over her shoulder at him, shaking her head and pointing to her ear.

 _“Ooh, sorry, can’t hear you!_ ” she mouthed as the doors closed. Through the window he glared at her with mock contempt, eyebrow high on his forehead. Sansa laughed until the train whisked him out of view.

\--------

Considering it was only, officially, her second week at Highgarden, you’d think some of the fantastical glamour of a new job would still have her wearing rose tinted glasses. However, a visit from a sister company that day had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

One no amounts of Listerine seemed to wash out.

It had dampened her spirits so much, she hadn’t read a lick the previous night, as she had planned to do. But, it wasn’t like she’d joined a book club or anything, with a strict reading schedule. Really, it’d only been a week and a half since her and Sandor started swapping opinions.

But, they’d already developed a kind of… structure.

And Sansa liked it. It relaxed her mind before the workday started. It prepared her for long hours of staring at a computer screen. For grueling sessions of explaining to writers that they couldn’t change tenses half way through a story, or to stop being such _commaholics_. Today though, she couldn’t get out of her own head.

And the train station smelled funky.

Sansa eyed the man next to her wearily. The platform was rather crowded today, so it was no discourtesy that had him so close. But he smelled of liquor, and he kept looking her way when he thought she wasn’t looking. When she heard the train’s incoming whistle, she sighed in relief.

That was until a shift in the crowd caused the man to bump into her, sending her book flying out of her hands. The train clanked and clanged as it came to a stop, effectively distorting her senses as she watched her book fall between moving feet, and she mindlessly leapt for it, a slobbery voice calling _‘My apologies!’_ to her back. She reached for her book, receiving glares from people trying to board the train and nearly tripping over her hunched form. As she stood, a hand was on her back, and she turned to see the man, whose retched smell now invaded her nostrils like hard plugs.

She didn’t want him touching her.

But he was right in her face, apologizing again.

“I’m so sorry, that was very clumsy of me!” he cried.

“Oh, it’s fine, really.” she said, and moved to step away, but he followed her, hand dragging to her bicep to clamp there. To hold her still.

“Is your book okay?” he asked. Sansa’s brain went on alert. She didn’t like this at all.

“It’s fine.” she said again, more urgently this time, and moved to pull her arm away, but he held her tight. “Let me go.” She snipped. A moment later, she would have torn her arm away with violent effort, but before that happened, a large hand was clamped around the man’s forearm, and he startled, releasing Sansa.

Sandor looked to her, pointedly stepping between her and the man.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The man yelped in shock, and Sandor released him, but not before giving him a hard glare, using his looming stature in his favor. Sansa breathed a heavy sigh, and they watched as the man hustled to the next car, hurrying inside just as the doors closed.

Sansa gasped.

“The train!” she squealed, but it was too late. The doors were shut, beaming a red _‘no entry’_ and the train hummed and jumped into motion. Sandor didn’t seem as concerned, turning to her again. He held up his hand as though he meant to touch her shoulder, but instead it just loomed within proximity.

“Are you alright?” he asked again. Sansa inhaled a shuddering breath, and nodded. But she felt the prickling sensation of tears at her eyes, and she shook her head. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in her exasperation, and looked down to his feet, too embarrassed to meet his face with watery eyes.

His hand met her shoulder then, “Sansa, did he hurt you?” he asked, much more firmly than before. Maybe angry even.

“No, no, I’m fine.” She answered, not wanting to worry him. “It’s just been a rough few days.” She said quietly. “And now I’m going to be late for work.” And despite her concern over bleeding mascara, her head shot up, and guilt swelled in her chest. “You’re going to be late!” she realized. Sandor’s brow curved in and he passively shook his head, as though it were hardly a thought to consider.

“It’s fine.” he said dismissively, and removed his hand. “Another train will be by in less than 20. Why don’t we grab a coffee?” he suggested. Sansa considered that. _20 minutes?_ If she hustled, she might be able to clock in at the last minute. “Or we can just wait for the train.” Sansa looked up to see Sandor stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, lolling back on his feet to create distance between them.

“Oh!” Sansa immediately felt like a jerk. She hadn’t meant to distance him with her silence. “No! Coffee sounds good!” She said, and reached up to dab away the remnants of tears. She offered up a smile.

He seemed sated with that.

They made their way to the coffee stand, and as Sansa went to pay, the waitress brushed her off, indicating that the man ahead of her had already taken care of it. Sansa bit her lip and she stood next to him, waiting in line patiently as heat filtered off the steamers and the humm of grinding beans echoed around them.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Sansa said with a sigh, “So, thank you. For the coffee, and for…” At first, she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard. But when she cast a glance his way, he only shrugged. Sansa smiled, and inhaled deeply. “I hate to say I told you so, but…”

In the corner of her peripherals, Sansa recognized the sharp arch of his brow.

“What?” he implored. She grinned.

“I told you chivalry wasn’t dead.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wanted to ask him questions ... but she didn’t imagine he’d appreciate that.

“They’re in this situation because of Ceo, he’s entirely to blame.” Sansa groaned in an overly exaggerated manner, causing Sandor to wave a dismissive palm at her. “If he’d followed Korin’s instructions and kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t be imprisoned,” he continued to say, “And Korin wouldn’t be backpedaling to save his ass.”

Sansa huffed, causing her bangs to momentarily fly away from her brow.

“If Korin had been forthright with him, and honest in her findings, he wouldn’t have felt compelled to seek outside help.” Sansa retorted. “He had every reason to think she was sabotaging the investigation. Her father’s death most certainly makes her biased and emotionally compromised- _don’t do that!_.”

Sansa reached out and snatched the open hand he was waving in her face, as though he intended to block her words from reaching his ears. Her efforts were in vain, however, as he easily slipped from her grasp, and in turn reached to snag her pointer finger.

“Then you stop waving _this_ at me.” he told her, indicating to said right hand digit. His hand was comically large around her small finger. Sansa sighed again, long and heavy, and she turned her head, hoping to hide her smile in a curtain of hair.

“In any case,” she said as he released her hand and she returned it to take purchase on her bag strap. “Clearly now is the time for him to use his cybertelepathic link with The Angel to get himself out of this mess.” Sandor only huffed at her, “ _Without_ Korin’s help.” She added.

“Aye, maybe.” he replied. Sansa couldn’t suppress the second groan in her throat.

“You _still_ don’t trust The Angel?” she asked. Sandor’s eyebrow shot up.

“The voice in his head that all but affirmed itself as the Peace Department operating system?” he replied snarkily. “No, I don’t.”

“ **Next stop: 5th and Pearl St**.”

Sansa gave a heavy, burdened sigh. Next to her, Sandor eased and dropped his thick wall of book theories and arguments to allow her some pity. For which she was grateful.

“Last day.” he said, and though his tone was flat, Sansa recognized his attempt to be comforting. She nodded to him.

For over a week, Highgarden’s sister company, Golden Lion, had been on the grounds every day, observing the comings and goings of their affiliate. They were owned by this family called the Lannisters, and though Highgarden and Golden Lion by no means shared a market, it seemed both individual owners had made some kind of joint business venture.

From what Sansa understood, Golden Lion was using its funds to keep Highgarden afloat. Print being a dying business and all. Their transition to an entirely web product hadn’t been difficult, per say. But the money they lost in subscriptions from print, that most online patrons thought should be (or rather expected to be) free, was substantial.

Simply put, they couldn’t make up the revenue. So while Highgarden tried to keep its head above water and figure out where they could cut expenses to make up for those losses, Golden Lion picked up the tab.

Sansa, being fresh blood, feared for her job status when seated next to senior employees. However, that turned out to be hardly of concern in light of the Lannister’s eldest heir’s advances.

He was… how did she want to put it?

“You expect that **vainglorious tart** to make an appearance?” Sandor asked.

Sansa laughed heartily. She’d explained to him last week the circumstances that had sent her whole world aflutter. Explained, over terrible train station coffee, how the man had loitered at her desk all day, distracting her from her work, despite her attempts to discourage him. He’d made many comments toward her appearance, even recommending some stores, fragrances and hairstyles.

“ _You should wear it up_ ,” he’d told her, “ _it will make you look younger._ ”

Sandor had blatantly scoffed at that.

“A _ye, because that’s what you want: to look like a prepubescent teeny-bopper. At least now we know what he’s gunning for. Mayhaps you should find your granny-est looking sweater, wear that instead_.”

He’d made a number jabs, particularly as the days passed and Sansa relayed how the man had grown even more lewd with every passing moment.

Now though, she gave a shrug.

“Doesn’t matter.” she said, reassuringly, and echoed his sentiment, “last day.”

Still, Joffrey Baratheon, whose father was married into the Lannister family, made his most persistent attempts to sway Sansa. She’d taken so many bathroom breaks, the man had loudly suggested she may have a bladder problem.

“ _Mayhaps it’s vanity. Suppose I can’t blame you, such a lovely face to look at._ ” he’d said.

He was simply repugnant.

Five o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

But it did come. And the weekend followed it. Though she’d received both electronic and and verbal invitations from ‘ _Joff_ ’ to join his evening escapades, Sansa promptly busied herself with fictitious predetermined engagements.

It had been her book she’d spent the weekend with, though. Sansa was still catching up, after all. They were getting close to the final chapter. The right side of the book getting thinner by the day. While she was eager for answers and resolution, she felt the familiar sadness of something dear coming to an end. Like saying goodbye to a friend.

“Busy weekend?” Sansa asked on Monday morning, noting the darkness shading Sandor’s eyes. He stared at her a moment, worrying the inside of his good cheek, a hand stuffed guardedly into his pocket. 

“Spent a lot of time on the train.” he explained, and pointed to his left eye, “No license and all.” Sansa pursed her lips together and nodded.

“Out seeing friends?” she diverted. Sandor exhaled heavily, eye darting over her, considering. Sansa hadn’t expected that response. It’d been an innocent question, one she didn’t think would have much of an answer.

“Visited my sister this weekend.” he said finally, “Her birthday.” Sansa pushed her concern aside, brightening at the mention of a celebration.

“Oh, that’s nice!” she declared, “Your sister is out of town, then?” She asked. Sandor huffed, in the annoyed way that he did, and drew his tongue over his lip. He often did that to keep it from speaking ahead of turn.

“No, in town.” he said, “Andals Cemetery.”

…

Sansa gave pause, and it seemed to further ruffle his feathers. He leaned into the train wall, looking away, out the windows at the world speeding on by.

“I’m sorry.” was the first thing that fell from her lips. “I-” But he pointedly cleared his throat, pushing himself up and opening the book up to where his thumb held it in place.

“She’d given me this book not long before she’d passed. Her more recent read.” he explained. Sansa nodded dutifully. She wanted to ask him questions. How she died. How long ago. How close they were. If he was doing alright.

But she didn’t imagine he’d appreciate all that. “I think she would also be on Ceo’s side.” Sandor said, and scoffed. Sansa watched as he shook his head, eye distant as it stared at the pages. “I meant to give the book back to her, really. It sounded awful.”

She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her, and when he looked at her, guilt swelled inside her. She had only hoped to be comforting. But his sharp brow receded. 

“But it’s turned out to be good.”  
  
_“_ ** _Next stop: 5th and Pearl St_ ** _.”_  rang above her head. But it was distant.  

If she were being honest, Sansa thought, perhaps, it wasn’t the book itself that he thought was good. The way he looked at her, locked on her face, searching, imploring. Sansa thought perhaps he may be implying that the feeling had something to do with her.

  
And Sansa suddenly never wanted this book to end.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her free hand moved gratuitously as she spoke. Fingers wiggling when her brows did. He wondered if the two motor functions were directly connected.

When he realized it was, in fact,  **him** she was speaking to, the first thing Sandor did was look at Bronn. Why, he could not say. It just seemed like the thing to do.

And perhaps, for a moment, he thought he was being baited into some kind of prank. But his former co-worker looked just as surprised as he was, and tipped his head expectantly, pointedly lowering his mobile to watch what was unfolding.

“B-Beg your pardon?” Sandor had said. Fumbled, really. Behind the woman, on the other side of the car, Bronn sat where he always did. He lifted a hand to his chin, ineffectively masking a laugh. If he had more time to think on it, Sandor might have glared at the man. But the young woman, with rich locks of wind-tousled red hair, held up the book in her hand.

“Your book.” She’d said, and extended a tiny finger with posh looking gloss at him. It took him a moment to see the connection. But doing so left him with no more answers than he had before. Later on, hours following the strange conversation, he’d think on how dumbly he’d stared. How unintelligible he’d been. She’d put him in a strange stupor almost instantly.

And mayhaps it was due to her abrupt interruption, as he stood there, diving into a book with a main character he could not possibly imagine his sister fancying. Mayhaps it was the nostalgic haze he’d relaxed into. Or the break in routine she’d dared created. Or maybe her unguarded approach.

Her excited, bright blue eyes were suddenly made smaller by the worrisome curve of her brow.

“I’m sorry.” She’d said, batting her painted lashes.“I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just saw we were reading the same book-”

The book. She wanted to talk about the book. The book whose theme seemed to be something in the way of those modern teen dystopian series that were so popular anymore. The book his sister had put in his hand what felt like years ago. The book he’d thought about giving back to her, before he no longer had the luxury to do so. 

The book he’d been unable to open at all, until just yesterday.

“I’m only on chapter three.” he’d told her. Just started, in fact. She’d beamed. Eyes perking, posture straightening. And suddenly, details he’d only just read were leaving her lips. She talked so much, he’d wondered if she’d recently broken a vow of silence. Like someone splurging after a diet.

Her free hand moved gratuitously as she spoke. Fingers wiggling when her brows did. He wondered if the two motor functions were directly connected. She smiled a lot. Meek, unsure smiles, meant to reassure. Her pretty plump lips would spread thick over her cheeks. Pale cheeks. Either she wasn’t from around here, or she’d literally just left her home for the first time.

She seemed far too upbeat. Far too eager. Far too pretty, to be standing there, talking to him, a stranger on a train.

She’d asked why he’d chosen this book.

He’d been honest, as best he could.

And in a way it made more sense. In a way, it was really his sister she was talking to, though she might not know it. His sister’s silly book, that would have made a woman like her approach a man like him. It elicited sadness, these thoughts of his sister. And unwarranted anger, for making him respond as such.

And yet still: “ _ Though the heroine is a bit crass for my taste _ .” she’d said, wrinkling her nose like she’d bitten into something sour. That’d been about the response he’d imagined Elinor making.

 

\-----------------

 

Bronn had teased him the following day.

“Think your little friend will be back?” he’d said. He and Bronn lived not too far from one another. Once upon a time, they followed the exact same route to and from work, back when Sandor still employed under  _ Stag Enterprise _ . Though Bronn worked for  _ Golden Lion _ , a sister company to  _ Stag _ , he fell under far more respectable management.

When Elinor had gotten sick, Sandor had opted to call it quits with the Baratheons. The demanding work schedule didn’t leave time for visits. Or, eventually, in-home care. He’d somehow managed to get employment with  _ Quiet Isle Outreach _ , in their communications department, of all places. He worked with local businesses and relief organizations to coordinate events and programs. It was a lot of paperwork, and a lot of legal jargon.

But it was honest work.

Something he couldn’t recall ever doing.

Truthfully, the transition had been rough.

He’d spent a lifetime trying to catch up to his older brother, who worked directly under the Lannister heiress, Cersei Baratheon. He’d spent a lifetime determined to prove himself a worthier man. A greater man. Greater than the physical ailment Gregor had left Sandor to bear. Worthier, for providing for their sickly sister, who was removed from their home following their mother’s death.

She’d been lucky, in a way. Their drunk of a father hadn’t even noticed his daughter’s declining condition. But her teachers had. Still, their father had managed to convince the courts his ignorance had been due to the grief of his wife’s passing, and somehow, by some means, they’d let him keep his two boys.

A mistake they rectified too late, a year later, when Gregor pushed Sandor’s face onto the heated stove top.

Sandor hadn’t been given a chance to reconnect with Elinor until adulthood. She’d found him, in fact, for he had no way to know where she’d been taken after her removal. Her social worker had managed a closed adoption.

That year had been a strange one.  _ Stag Enterprises _ had just moved to begin working with an old friend of Robert’s. A company out of town and older than dirt. Robert had wanted Sandor and his overwhelming stature close at hand, just as  _ Golden Lion _ kept Gregor within reach. Robert had wanted muscle for his first born son.

But Elinor…

She’d only been looking to reach out to her little brother, but Sandor saw that not much had changed since they were children. She was still weak, still frail. And in the coming months, he’d learn she was not long for this Earth.

And suddenly, all the space in his head that Gregor had once occupied was no longer available. The anger was still there, for certain. The resentment. The rage.

But Elinor came first. He’d hadn’t even thought on it, really. It’d just happened. Something that clicked into place, effortlessly. Elinor’s wellbeing far exceeded Sandor’s anger toward Gregor.

Following her death, Sandor was left with emptiness. But more than that, with gratitude.

 

……..

 

On Wednesday, the train whipped into the station at 18th and Oak with a resounding screech. He hadn’t meant to look up. She hadn’t been on the previous day, the redhead with the book. But there she was. Tall in comparison to those around her. Shuffling through bodies. A bit flitty. Nervous.

She was prettier than he remembered, in his thoughtless haze. He’d convinced himself his mind had over exaggerated, but it hadn’t. She was stylishly demure. Hugging her bag to herself, careful not to waste a centimeter of space, else someone might need to occupy it.

He’d told himself to look away. He could practically feel Bronn’s eyes on him. But she’d spotted him, and smiled, wiggling those posh fingers of hers.

Then she’d approached him.

He’d considered not picking up the book again after Monday.

Considered it, then found himself three more chapters in.

_ “Ooooh, chapter seven. _ ” She’d said secretively. He’d liked the rise of her brows, making her eyes wide and inviting, and the fill of her cheeks as she gave a tight lipped smile.

She thought herself successfully covert. Her blatant failure was painfully endearing.

 

\---------------------------

 

On Friday, he’d dawdled on the station stairs of his stop, making it onto the train just in the nick of time. Bronn had done a double take when he saw him, and promptly lifted a brow. Sandor said nothing.

He’d learned her name that day.

_ Sansa. _

He liked it.

Bloody hell, did he like it. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a familiar feeling. The fleetingness of it. Much like a book, in fact.

They often disagreed. At first, Sandor had worried over it. He wasn’t one for holding his tongue. But Sansa, if she was put out, made no fuss about it. She’d nod dutifully, and presented her argument, unburdened by any level of discourse. Sandor was so used to confrontation, it was strange to see how easily she avoided it.

Not by being agreeable or dismissive, but rather by simply accepting a differentiation in opinion.

It was terribly refreshing.

To be frank, Sandor didn’t know what to make of it as he watched her the following Wednesday, scurrying off the train in hopes of having the last word. Making silly gestures at him from the other side of the glass until the train had taken him out of view.

He didn’t know what to make of this girl. Was she new in town? What was it that brought her to 5th and Pearl on Mondays, Wednesday and Fridays? Was it conversation she wanted out of him? Someone to talk about her book with?

Why him? And was that all she wanted of him?

He’d thought to ask those question - _well, a few of them_ \- the following Friday.

Instead, he’d wound up dashing out the train doors when a sullied looking man had grabbed Sansa by the arm, and her pretty brows lifted in alarm. Then as he’d watched the train leave them behind, he caught Bronn’s eyes in the window, the man bearing a stupidly amused grin.

Bastard could have at least caught the door for them.

When he’d turned back to her, Sansa’s pretty face was lit red. He reached out, instinctively, as it seemed the comforting thing to do, but refrained before he made contact. They’d only just met two weeks ago. And she seemed frazzled. He might only alarm her more.

“Are you alright?” he asked. She’d jumped in place at his question, and quickly nodded. But that nod slowly morphed into a shaking of the head, and she tipped her face to the floor, masking it beneath her hair. Sandor had only seen a moment of Sansa’s interaction with the man. Had seen him grab her, and Sansa unsuccessfully try to pull away. His mind raced with all the things that might have happened in the instances before he intervened. His hand met her shoulder then, more purposeful than comforting. “Sansa, did he hurt you?” he demanded.

He’d seen the man on the train before. Seen him talk to a few vagrants. Sandor imagined it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to find out his name, or at least a place he could be found-

“No, no! I’m fine.” Sansa insisted, head still hanging low. “It’s just been a rough few days.” Then she’d had the audacity to be concerned about the train. About _him_ being late. Which made him feel a bit guilty, for all her unnecessary concern. He’d waived it off, and assured her another train would be by soon.

“Why don’t we grab a coffee?” he’d suggested. But her eyes had dipped downward, hesitant, and Sandor’s throat suddenly felt tight.

Well, that was it then.

Their interactions were meant to be solely limited to the twenty minutes they spent on public transit. Sandor expected that. Really, he did. There was no point in being disappointed. He was just a stranger on the C train, after all. “Or we can just wait for the train.” he diverged. Sansa’s head shot up in alarm.

And there she was again, all animated arms and waving hands, talking far too fast. Too eager.

“Oh!” she’d gasped, “No! Coffee sounds good! Yes! Let’s do that!” 

Sandor resented the relief he felt.

When the barista asked her order, Sansa’s eyes ran over the unfamiliar menu like it was a foreign language, before spitting out a fancy name that sounded incredibly complicated. The bouncy-haired teen beckoned her over, asking Sansa questions to help create the concoction.

“Are these together?” a voice rang. Sandor’s head shot over to the girl behind the register and she stared up expectantly. “The orders.” she specified after his silence. Sandor literally felt the blood rush to his ears and his neck suddenly blossomed with heat.

“Yes.” he’d blurted, finding himself fumbling with his wallet. The girl barely masked the raise of her brow, then dismissed him down the line, Sansa not far behind him.

Was that too forward of him?

Was he being ridiculous? For even entertaining the idea that she might be interested in him?

He knew these thoughts of his were escalating too quickly. He was jumping the gun. They’d known each other for two weeks. He needed to expel such things from his head and just...see how things played out! See if- 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice was low. The lowest he’d heard it. In the past few days, Sansa had proven not to be one to yield her true feelings. She often expressed her thoughts unguardedly. But those were typically louder. Faster. High pitched and bubbling with energy.

This felt much more personal. “So, thank you. For the coffee,” she elaborated, “and for…”. There was a pause. Long and antagonizing that made Sandor’s skin crawl with anticipation. _For what_ , he wanted to say. For intervening? For spending his transit time being her conversation? For reading this damnable book-

“I hate to say I told you so, but…” Her pretty little lips turned and twisted, her eyebrows revealing her amusement.

“What?” he implored. She grinned.

“I told you chivalry wasn’t dead.”

…

Maybe he did stand a chance. She was clearly insane, to think him chivalrous.

\-------------------

Over the following week, Sansa would relay her discontent with a man at work, who was apparently a representative of a partner company. A man who was very clear in his intent to win Sansa’s affections. Though perhaps _win_ wasn’t the proper wording 

From the sounds of it, the man expected her adoration.

Reminded him terribly of his former charge, Joffrey Baratheon.

“It’s only until Friday.” She’d said. But everyday until then, her little feet seemed to weigh her down as her stop came around.

“Wanna play hooky?” she’d asked on Friday, in jest, of course. Still, Sandor had half a mind to take her up on it, in lieu of his weekend plans.

It seemed a strangely ironic and crude time for his sister’s birthday. Admittedly, it’d been why he’d picked up their book at all, weeks ago, when a reminder on his phone had chimed, ‘ _Elinor’s birthday: 1 month_ ’. He’d meant to erase the reminder. To spare himself the painful thought. But he’d clearly forgotten in the months since her funeral.

The reminder had sent him to his bookcase, where the last book Elinor had given him sat, pages unturned, cover accumulating dust. It’d inspired him to pick it up. To try.

He’d taken it with him to her grave. Considered throwing it at her tombstone.

 _‘Look what you did’_ , he’d wanted to tell her. ‘ _Sansa is lovely and sweet and kind and what can I do about it?’_

_‘Look what you did’._

_‘Brought me something I cannot have’._

They were almost to the end of the book. What would happen after that? Would there be nothing else to talk about? Would Sansa find a new book, and dutifully read that on the train, never to speak to him again.

He’d shaken his head. Shaken his fist.

It was a familiar feeling. The fleetingness of it. Much like a book, in fact. One so good, you can’t help but immerse yourself in, and before you know it, it’s finished, and you're left feeling empty. That was how it had felt when Elinor had come back into his life. She’d been a touch of grace, glorious when present, but gone before he realized how precious it’d been.

Would Sansa be the same?

\----------------------

“Busy weekend?” She tipped her head at him, moving in close. Examining his face, blue eyes moving about, a mile a minute. He’d thought to be snarky, but he was truly too exhausted.

“Lot of time on the train this weekend.” he’d told her. He wasn’t sure if she’d understand, as he pointed to his unusable eye. The one he still saw fire in sometimes. But she’d nodded, consistently polite, whether or not she could make sense of it. She was even polite when he’d corrected the status of his sister’s state.

“I’m sorry.” She’d blurted. It was cordial and guarded. And even though he’d made peace with Elinor’s passing, it bothered him.

Because Sansa’s presence felt like having a piece of his sister back. Elinor represented a portion in his life not plagued by anger and resentment. She was the cornerstone of a transitional time. Of a period where he aspired to be better than he’d ever been before. He’d always sought to be greater. Greater than Gregor.

But Elinor made him better.

Sansa reminded him of that.

Reminded him of that drive to be more. To be _better_.  
  
‘ _Look what you did’._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words had spilled from her lips before she’d had time to think on them. Too eager, again.

Sansa closed the book with a resounding thud.

…

She leaned back into the dryer, letting its heat stimulate her skin and the vibrations pour down her spine. Its low humm was relaxing, amongst the noise in her brain.

So that was it. Korin and Ceo revealed the corruption within the Peace Department, uncovered the truth behind her father’s death, and opened the doors for the Galaxy Council to set itself on a better path.

Ceo stayed on as the new main operations system with the Peace Department and Korin….

Korin just left.

….

Sansa was mad at her.

Unreasonably so, for being a fictional character.  
  
A part of her brain was telling her that this ending was good. That just because you have male and female characters interacting doesn’t mean they have to have any kind of romantic involvement. This should be a refreshing conclusion.

But another part of her fiercely disagreed. They clearly had chemistry, and their personalities balanced one another. Why wouldn’t they at least entertain the option?  
  
Sansa stared at the plain paperback cover. The edges were bent due to the many times it was shoved carelessly into her bag. The spine was bowed from being folded over so frequently. She felt bad, for not treating it with a bit more care. She hadn’t expected to feel quite so attached to this bargain bin book.

She wondered what Sandor thought. He probably felt it was fitting. He never seemed terribly fond of Ceo, and often complained about the cyborg’s sense of duty and, sometimes misguided, righteousness. He was probably glad that Korin did not opt to stay.

But, Sansa thought as she slid into her shoes and plucked her keys off the hook, she’d argue that even Korin was reluctant. She had left on the grounds that Ceo was no longer in need of her assistance. The main heroine struggled with her need for solidarity versus how she’d changed during the time she’d spent with Ceo.

Sure, it was fitting, for Korin’s character type, to choose to leave. But after all they’d been through together, Sansa felt it would have also made sense for her to stay.

“I suppose so.” was all Sandor said.

He was quiet today. It disappointed Sansa. Their book was done. Didn’t he have more thoughts then simply: _it was alright?_

It was cold this morning. Not biting, but certainly not comfortable. Still, the chill had subsided in lieu of the strange prickles that lit up Sansa’s skin after boarding the train. He’d been where he’d always been the past few weeks: leaned up against the far door, taking up as little space as a big man like him could. Jacket wrapped tightly to him. Hair pushed over his scars.  
  
His sharp jaw tightened upon catching her eye, and he nodded toward her. He didn’t look as tired as he did Monday. Still, he was solemn. Perhaps this was just bad timing. Perhaps he was still mourning his sister’s birthday.  
  
And how could Sansa object to that?

“You wanted Korin to stay?” He asked, low and a bit short. Sansa watched his lips pursed together and he sniffled. She looked down at his hands, a bit red, for he’d not worn gloves.

_He’ll get a cold_ , she thought.

Sansa inhaled deeply, fiddling with the loose ends on her own gloved fingers, and found she was unable to keep her voice from sounding thick.

“I wanted her to be happy.” She decided on. She looked up to meet his eye, and was surprised by the intensity of his stare. He opened his mouth, as though he meant to say something, then quickly closed it again, choosing instead to nod.

It was….

...terribly awkward.

When had that happened? Why had it happened? Yes, their last encounter had been strange but, did it truly warrant this?  
She didn’t like it. She wanted him to tease her silly theories again. She wanted to see his thick brow raise when she relayed the comings and goings of her outrageous coworkers. She wanted to see the push at the inside of his lip when he failed to mask a smile.  
  
_“_ **_Next stop: 5th and Pearl St_ ** _.”_   
  
She thought about Ceo at the end of the book, watching Korin leave.

“Do you have another book in mind?”  
  
The words had spilled from her lips before she’d had time to think on them. Too eager, again.

Sandor’s head shot up, and tilted, brow lifting high on his head.

“What?” he asked. Sansa swallowed the thickness in her throat.

“Another book? For us to read?” she asked. She felt heat bloom on her skin. Prickles over prickles, covering her body, making her nervous with the sensation. People began filing toward the door, but Sansa held firmly in place before him. He shook his head.

“No.” he said. Sansa nodded dutifully.

“Okay. I’ll make a list for Friday morning, and we can pick one!” She declared.

_“Excuse me.” “Pardon Me.”_ Sansa finally had to give way as people began exiting the train and the current forced her along. Her feet hit the hard pavement as she exited, and she meant to turn around. Too see if he seemed … happy with what she put into motion, but as she spun, she surprised to find that he was right behind her.

“Sandor!-”

“I don’t work Fridays.”

Sansa paused, uncertain of what she thought she heard, and what he’d meant by it. She felt her brows curl inward.

“What?” She asked. Sandor inhaled deeply. She watched as he ran his tongue under the good part of his lip, and schooled himself.

“I don’t work Fridays.” he repeated, “I’ve been getting on this train every Friday morning, for the sole purpose of talking to you.”  
  
She’d thought he’d say more, but he didn’t. He just stared at her, waiting.

Sansa thought about the plain cover of her paperback book. He reminded her of it, here and now. Edges a little bent. A bit off kilter. She felt bad, for not realizing.  
  
“I, uh-” he started, and lifted one of those large hands to pull at the skin of his chin, and he sniffled again, struggling for words. “You see, I uh-”

She hadn’t expected to feel quite so attached to the man on the C train.

But, they clearly had chemistry, and their personalities balanced one another.  
  
Shouldn't she at least entertain the option?

“Dinner then.” She said. Sandor’s struggles ceased.

“What-”

“D-dinner then.” She repeated, though with a little less certainty than the first time. “It’s silly, to take the train every morning. We can talk about it, over dinner. Friday.”

**“C train, now departing.”** boomed loudly overhead, and the train’s wheels screeched back to life. Sandor’s head spun to look at it, then he turned back to her, digging into his pocket and nodding.

“Dinner, Friday.” he repeated. Sansa smiled at the push in the corner of his mouth.

“You better hurry!” she said, lifting a hand to point at the closing doors. Suddenly though, that hand was in his, and even through her glove, she felt the familiar shape of a business card in her palm. She watched as he dashed back to the train, making it in just in time.

It gave a resounding whistle before whisking him away, the warmth of his hand still lingering on her own. In her other, she held her book, tucked fondly to her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, that's it! The last chapter.
> 
> Apologies for the extended wait. The summer hit me pretty hard in regards to work load. I had to keep putting this on the back burner.
> 
> I have a feeling some are going to be a bit surprised by this ending. I brought up Joffrey, but never created an encounter between he and Sandor, despite that it is alluded that Sandor knows him. However, I never really had any intensions to. All those details were really just background development. I didn't feel like creating that kind of conflict was necessary, and it wasn't the direction I wanted this story to go.
> 
> I wanted it to be simple, and straight forward, and just about Sansa and Sandor, and this silly book. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it, and want to thank everyone who stuck around for the ending. Your kudos and comments were always appreciated, and very encouraging!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos always appreciated <3


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